


you can only blame your problems on the world for so long

by lucifucker



Series: let's hear it for America's Suitehearts [1]
Category: America's Suitehearts (Music Video) - Fandom, Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: AU, America's Suitehearts (Music Video), M/M, gratuitous use of fall out boy lyrics, i wanna say hurt/comfort but, its not, its too surreal to be hurt/comfort kind of, this was hard, uh, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:09:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2365415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifucker/pseuds/lucifucker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The arms around his waist are cold, and coiled, wrapped around him like a snake with no intention of letting go. Sandy's fingertips dig into his sides, as though even in the gentlest of gestures he can't avoid causing pain.</p><p> </p><p>or</p><p>the America's Suitehearts au that I wanted and no one else asked for literally ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you can only blame your problems on the world for so long

The clouds aren't moving.

 

The arms around his waist are cold, and coiled, wrapped around him like a snake with no intention of letting go. Sandy's fingertips dig into his sides, as though even in the gentlest of gestures he can't avoid causing pain.

 

The clouds sit up above them, bright pink against a black sky, and don't move, no matter how hard he wishes on how many stars.

 

There are some things that no-one can force, no matter how lucky they are.

 

–

 

There's a wind blowing through the trees, and the leaves are rustling, but they're not making a sound, and Horseshoe wonders if it's because he can't hear them, or because they don't want to be heard.

 

A hand touches the back of his neck, and he hears nothing.

 

Some days, it's better this way.

 

–

 

The water is green, and when he steps too close, it stains his shoes. Donnie says they do it to keep him away from the water. Donnie says the water leads to different places. Donnie says they're afraid that he's not normal.

 

Donnie says a lot of things.

 

Horseshoe thinks maybe they think he is normal. Horseshoe thinks maybe they're afraid they were wrong.

 

The more photos that they take of him, the more normal he becomes.

 

Horseshoe thinks maybe they're afraid it won't work.

 

–

 

Benzadrine sings, but his lips don't move, and though he exhales air, his chest does not rise. Benzadrine sings like a gramophone, opens his mouth and lets the music come out, not always just voices, and not always just one.

 

Horseshoe opens his mouth, and all that comes out are lies.

 

Lucky, he supposes, is a relative term.

 

–

 

“What is it?”

 

“A calendar.”

 

“What's it for?”

 

Sandy points to a square on the sheet of paper he's holding up, and Horseshoe looks closer. December sixteenth. The number on top reads two thousand eight. He takes the sheets of paper, and Sandy nods.

 

“Keep it.” He says. “This way you'll always know.”

 

Horseshoe starts counting.

 

–

 

Sandy smiles for the cameras the same way that Horseshoe doesn't.

 

Effortlessly.

 

Donnie smiles for the cameras the same way that Benzadrine does.

 

By faking it.

 

–

 

“I had a name.”

 

“You did.”

 

“I don't remember.”

 

“You don't.”

 

“Do you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He pushes himself up on one elbow, and ignores the way the grass is leaving imprints on his clothes. Orange, it seems, is not his color.

 

“Tell me.”

 

Sandy shakes his head.

 

“You need to remember.”

 

“I can't.”

 

“You need to.”

 

“Please.” Sandy's eyes flash yellow and Horseshoe remembers why even the cameras are afraid of him. He lies back down, with his back on the ground, and the place where their hands had been touching feels cold.

 

At least he remembers what it feels like to _be_ cold. 

–

 

Horseshoe watches them watching him, gazes through the screen at the little girls and boys who think think he can't see them. They are listless. They are mindless. They are barely alive. 

 

He will never end up like them. 

 

Behind his back, he fears, he already is.

 

–

 

There are eyes, glowing, in the corner of his room, and he can see them in the dark the way he knows but does not remember seeing fireflies. 

 

“Are you scared?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Are you lying?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

Sandy is everywhere, and nowhere, wide lips and golden fingers, and Horseshoe feels light as a feather and heavy as a rock all at once. 

 

There are hands on his face, and breath on his ear in the dark, and Sandy's voice, soft, and sweet, like candy. 

 

“Oh, darling.” He whispers, and Horseshoe reaches up, grips shoulders that appear almost as his hands curve around the place where they should be. “I know what you're going through.” 

 

The words make something spark in his brain, not a memory, but a memory of one. The voice sounds pitying, sounds relating, sounds...leading. 

 

“Do you?” 

 

“I saw god cry in the reflection of my enemies.” Sandman murmurs against Horseshoe's cheek, speaking in the smooth way that spiders weave silk. “And I was scared of myself.” Horseshoe tilts his face, and Sandy lets him kiss him, long, and soft. Sandy's mouth is larger than his, wider, and Horseshoe wonders sometimes, how it must feel. 

 

Not enough to ask. 

 

“How many days?” Sandy asks, and Horseshoe blinks. 

 

“A hundred forty.” He says, automatically, and knows rather than sees that Sandy nods. 

 

“We're close, now.” His fingers dig in, just slightly, on Horseshoe's skin. “You need to remember.” 

 

Horseshoe shakes his head, and Sandman growls, like wolves and snakes and the wind at night in a place he can't recall. 

 

“Remember me.” Sandman whispers, secretive, even here, and Horseshoe knows that they are always, always watching. 

 

“I wanna scream I love you from the top of my lungs.” Horseshoe blurts out, and shakes his head. “But I'm afraid that someone else will hear me.” Sandy kisses him, again, like fire and wild hearts, and suddenly he isn't the shadows, he's there, on top of him, a steady, solid weight, like they can so rarely find, here. 

 

“We're gonna leave this town.” He mumbles against Horseshoe's mouth, and nods. “And then you can.” He pulls back. “But first, you need to remember.” 

 

Horseshoe closes his eyes, and presses his face into the soft crook of Sandman's neck. 

 

Sandman sighs. 

 

–

 

“I'm a loose bolt.” Donnie says, and tosses a rock into the water. It doesn't skip. It sinks. “Of a complete machine.”

 

“Don't be melodramatic.” Benzadrine says, from the top of the hill, where he stands, far away from the putrid fumes. Horseshoe breathes them like a new kind of air. 

 

“Don't tell me what to do.” Donnie sulks, and Horseshoe laughs. 

 

The sound drifts out over the river, and back to him, and it takes him a second to realize that the two of them are staring at him. 

 

“What?” Donnie shakes his head. 

 

“You laughed.” Horseshoe blinks. 

 

“I did.” 

 

Donnie looks at him for a long moment, as though he's trying to figure out  _how_ , and Horseshoe tilts his head to the side. 

 

“Is it a good thing?” Donnie shrugs. 

 

“Maybe.”

 

–

 

A hundred fifty days. Sandman won't look at him.

 

“Sandy?” Horseshoe pokes his head around his side, and looks up at the gaunt face he's come to love like Sandman is his parent. He's not. “Sandy, what did I do?” 

 

Sandy, for his part, says nothing, just keeps playing with the beads on his wrists as though that's more interesting than anything Horseshoe has to say. 

 

“Sandy.” Nothing.

 

“Sandy!” Nothing. 

 

“ _Pete._ ” He freezes, and Sandman's head jerks up. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is open, just slightly, and he looks more surprised than Horseshoe's ever seen him look, before. 

 

“Say that again.” He demands, and Horseshoe swallows, thickly. “Say my name. Say it.”

 

“P-Pete.” He stutters out, and Pete abandons his cuffs in favor of grabbing Horseshoe's face between both hands, and suddenly, there's nothing sharp about them. 

 

“What's yours?” He asks, and leans in close, eyes wide, and pleading. “What's yours, please, what's yours?” 

 

Horseshoe shakes his head, slowly, and Pete lets out a noise halfway between a sigh and sob, and leans forward, resting their foreheads together. 

 

“You're not like them.” He whispers. “You can't be like them.” 

 

Horseshoe wonders how he remembered this before he remembered himself. 

 

–

 

“What's your name?” 

 

“Donnie, idiot.” 

 

“What was it before?” Donnie's quiet for a moment, and then he looks up at the still clouds.

 

“I think it started with an 'A'.” He says, and that's all he says for a long time after. Benzadrine sits down next to him on the grass, and Horseshoe wonders why he's not upset about his suit.

 

He goes to sleep that night and dreams of Jesus, Mary, and wakes up before the third one comes along. 

 

–

 

A hundred fifty one. 

 

“What's your name?” Pete asks, again. 

 

“I'm trying.” 

 

“Not hard enough.” 

 

Horseshoe asks Benzadrine. Benzadrine doesn't hesitate. 

 

“Patrick.” He pauses, and shakes his head. 

 

“Why are you still here?” 

 

Benzadrine looks at him, long, and hard, and there's a weight to his gaze that it's never had before. Horseshoe wonders if everything else is changing, or if he is. 

 

“I'm not leaving without you.” 

 

That night, Horseshoe dreams of jogging, and jellybeans, and Jupiter, and jousting, and wakes up with the name on his lips, but waits. 

 

–

 

A hundred and fifty-two days, and he stands in front of Pete and says it. 

 

Pete grins, and his mouth isn't giant, not now. 

 

“Let's go home.” 

 

–

 

The water is green, and warm, and thick, and it feels like he's wading through toxic waste. 

 

He probably is. 

 

Pete reaches for him, and finds his hand under the surface, slick, and slimy, but still there. Their fingers link, and their eyes meet. 

 

“One more time.” Pete murmurs, and Joe nods. 

 

They dive. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fun facts: 
> 
> Folie A Deux was released on December 16th, 2008. 
> 
> 152 days later, Believers Never Die part Deux tour ended, on May 17th, 2009. It was the last tour FOB did before the hiatus. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
